


Étude

by fantasyherondales



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Classical Music, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Mention of engagement, No mention of pregnancy, Oceanographer Rey, Pianist Kylo Ren|Ben Solo, Rey Has Abandonment Issues, Rey Kenobi, Rey Needs A Hug, Reylo - Freeform, Tidal Waves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27132730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantasyherondales/pseuds/fantasyherondales
Summary: Kylo Ren is Rey's favorite classical pianist. When they first meet after the former's concert through a mutual friend, they can never quite put one another out of their minds.When they meet again by the sea, their story unfolds for real.
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux & Rey, Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Finn & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Finn & Rey (Star Wars), Finn & Rose Tico, Poe Dameron & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Poe Dameron & Rey, Poe Dameron & Rose Tico, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey & Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 29
Kudos: 46
Collections: To Rapture the Earth and the Seas: the 2020 Reylo Fanfiction Anthology





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my first finished work! I'm too overwhelmed for words but I'd like to thank the wonderful mods, particularly [Mod Vivien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivien) and [Mod Briar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriarLily/pseuds/thewayofthetrashcompactor) for reviewing my piece and giving such helpful suggestions, and I'm honoured to be part of the Anthology this year.

“It’s Kylo Ren,” Hux says, waving the tickets in front of Rey’s face. “Come on, you’ll love it.”

She makes a face, twirling her straw idly where it rests in her juice. It’s not that she doesn’t want to go — the truth is the exact opposite, actually.

“You’re only asking me because you _abhor_ classical music,” she replies, tilting her head. “I don’t even know how you managed to hide the fact that you’re _Kylo Ren’s_ best friend, when I’ve been watching his videos and babbling about him _right_ in front of you for God knows how long.”

He shrugs in an elegant motion. Everything about Armitage Hux is unerringly tidy, from his immaculate red hair to the perfectly pressed lines of his slacks. Even his hands are completely devoid of crumbs from his sandwich. Rey grimaces, surreptitiously eyeing her own, streaked with mayonnaise and bits of ciabatta.

His green eyes twinkle as they regard Rey. “I know you think he’s hot,” he whispers. “Besides, you never asked the right questions.”

She’s feeling contrary, so she arches a brow and sips her drink, reveling in the breeze that’s doing its best to ruffle Hux’s hair and failing. She does not answer.

“Come on,” he groans, dropping all pretense. “I haven’t seen him for more than a year and I can’t miss this chance to support him. I bought two tickets because I’d fall asleep watching it and you can cover for me. You know how it is with Rose — I didn’t bother asking her.”

“Okay, okay.” Rey raises her hands in surrender. “Of course I’m going. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, especially since you got the best seats.”

She wouldn’t. The first time she saw Kylo Ren on YouTube, playing Chopin’s Ocean étude, she’d been entranced by the grace of his fingers as they danced across the keys with incredible control. Then there was the seriousness of his mien, his dark hair, aquiline nose, and unexpectedly soft lips.

Rey has loved that particular piece ever since, but only if it’s played by him. She listens to Martha Argerich, Arthur Rubinstein, Vladimir Horowitz, Yuja Wang — all the great pianists — and she is always bowled over by their skill and experience. Yet Kylo’s performances feel transcendent, touching her in ways other master virtuosos never did.

Rose has suggested that his darkly handsome features lend him an aura of melancholy, adding to his allure, and Rey agrees wholeheartedly.

Two days later, she’s in the concert hall, taking in the splendor of her surroundings. It’s distinctly neoclassical — all grandeur in its scale, juxtaposed with simple geometric forms. When she looks toward the stained-glass windows, the allegorical paintings on the ceiling, and crenellated, gilt-edged balconies, the riot of detailing takes Rey's breath away. It’s all gold, crushingly opulent, and unbearably beautiful.

It’s also _frigid_. Rey has always been more tolerant towards heat in contrast to cold; her years on the stormy, windy island of Ahch-To have done nothing to change that. She’s thankful that Hux is beside her to lend her his warmth, and that the concert hall is going to be crowded – people are streaming in from the doors, ostentatious in their sparkling diamonds and dapper three-piece suits.

Rey shrinks in her seat, self-conscious in her simple cream blouse and dark slacks. She should’ve put on some earrings, maybe some lip gloss —

“You look great,” Hux says to her. “Quit fidgeting. It’s about to start.” Rey scowls, scrutinizing him, noting the artfully styled hair and the contrast of fiery red against the gold of the hall. She snaps a picture of him and sends it to Rose, doing her best friend a service by letting her know how handsome her boyfriend looks.

They’re four rows away from the stage and dead center, and Rey waits with bated breath as everyone settles down in their seats. “Anytime now,” she says to herself. “It’s seven.”

Hux looks over at her. “Excited?”

She sticks out her tongue at him, the almost-childish gesture incongruous in a sea of well-dressed concertgoers. A few seats away, a middle-aged woman with a flawlessly coiffed platinum bob frowns at her.

“Stop teasing me.” Rey is all too aware that she is no longer feeling as cold before, as anticipation builds up in her veins. It _is_ her first concert, after all — after years of dreaming of going to the Verbier Festival in Switzerland. Hux chuckles softly, eyes gleaming. She feels that he has something else to say, but refrains from asking as applause begins to ring out across the hall.

Rey’s first glance immediately gives way to a double take.

She knows that Kylo Ren is tall. She knows that his legs go for miles, and he commands a presence, attracts attention, even from a video screen. She also knows that he has _amazing_ hair. But nothing can prepare her for the reality of him as he strides out to the center of the stage, where the Steinway & Sons grand piano awaits.

Clad in a simple tux cut close to his body, he bows to the crowd, the light bouncing off the waves of his sable hair. _Lord_ , he is massive. His intense gaze sweeps around slowly, and her eyes take in every inch of his expertly tailored attire, his jacket and slacks ink-black. They are doing nothing to conceal the sheer physicality of him.

His heated gaze falls right on her.

Rey feels her heart lurch, missing a beat, before she realizes that he’s recognized Hux — of course. His hair isn’t exactly hard to miss. Her eyes are drawn to his lips as they twitch into a half-smile for him alone.

Hux beams outright.

Kylo Ren sits down at the piano, his powerful shoulders straightening as he rests his hands atop the keys. The concert hall is a sprawling magnificence, the arcs of light reflecting off the shoulder of one of the statues, the neck of an alabaster swan only adding to its majesty. It’s almost _holy_ , like a sacred space belonging to the divine, too imposing and beautiful for mortal eyes to gaze upon.

The first note rings out muted, before the rest come in succession slowly, gently in a unique arpeggio.

It’s Mozart’s Fantasia in D minor.

The music is romantic in its tones, the long-held bass notes adding a hint of longing. It is a surreal experience, and Rey thinks that Kylo’s presence and the plaintive song he’s wringing out of the piano only add to the holy atmosphere suffusing the space.

The _andante_ moves on to the _adagio_ — the main body of the piece. It’s known as the weeping theme, with longer singing lines continued or commented by short sighs of quiet pain. At least, that’s what Rey hears from the music. Beside her, Hux is already stifling a yawn. And it’s barely three minutes into the concert.

She elbows him.

He holds himself still as Rey immerses herself in Kylo Ren’s exquisite skill once more. He coaxes the second theme out, the insistent, repeating notes and chromatic descending progression reminiscent of some secret oracle voicing a portent in hushed whispers. It rises, building up into a chorus of sighs and agitation, and Rey’s heart seizes as the tension ends abruptly in a _crescendo_.

There’s a _presto_ , a cadenza that melds right into the secretive first theme again, and Rey marvels at the gentleness of his touch. Then comes the _allegretto_ in a major key — much more typical of Mozart. It’s joyful, but the way Kylo plays it makes it feel more like the transient bliss born of a delusion rather than the transition of sorrow into happiness.

This is just the first piece, one of the classical period. Rey’s already touched by his performance — she doesn’t know if she can handle him playing Romantic-era pieces, which she prefers. And it hasn’t even been ten minutes yet.

She stares down at the repertoire list in her hand. Liszt’s Sonata in B minor and Ravel’s _Gaspard de la Nuit_.

Hux mutters, “It’s just like him to play all these angsty pieces.”

The sonata is half an hour of unbroken music, a full sonata with exposition, development and recapitulation. She’s read up on it — though one of the composer’s signatures, it’s not one of his _classic_ classics, like, say, _Liebestraume_ , or _La Campanella_ , which everyone must have heard of at some point in movies or whatever.

She remembers deciding that she’d love to hear Kylo Ren play _Liebestraume_ , which he hasn’t, strangely and lamentably. There’s not a single video on YouTube.

There are theories fueling the sonata: it’s a portrait of the Faust legend, it’s an autobiography about Liszt’s personal conflicts, it’s based on the Bible and Milton’s Paradise Lost…

Kylo begins in _sotto voce_ — half voice — for the ominous descending scale as he opens the first theme. The following forceful motif in octaves somehow matches Rey’s first impression of his exterior, all stern features and hard angles.

She watches on as the music resounds through the hall; the flicks of Kylo’s wrist are entrancing as he performs. Rey watches him go from forcefulness to the unbearable gentleness he’d shown in the Fantasia earlier as he moves into the _andante sostenuto_. The centerpiece of the sonata.

The song is beautiful. As she enjoys it, she registers her surprise at having remembered the analysis she’d rifled up from the Internet so thoroughly. The Italian terms are not completely foreign to her, but the entire art of piano playing is still essentially so. Yet she’s read up on everything regarding the pieces in the span of two days and committed them to memory.

Expressions play across his face as he continues, pain and ecstasy and sorrow and rapture. They’re not theatrical — he looks as if he’s disappeared into the music itself, as if his fingers are bringing him to another, higher realm without his even knowing as they fly across the keys.

Strangely, Rey feels like she’s witnessing some sort of communion. Hux, on the other hand, is tensing up every now and then, forcing himself to sit straight as he attempts to prevent himself from falling asleep.

The mood changes, the earliest theme making a reappearance, stalking and just slightly portentous. The rest of the themes follow in quick succession. It’s the recapitulation, Rey reminds herself. They’re part of a full Sonata.

She supposes that it’s testament to Kylo’s skill that his strength never wanes, not once, the notes ringing out clear and sharp, the scales smooth and fluid. Rey understands that if it were up to legends like Rubinstein, Kylo would still be lacking. Severely lacking, even, in the subtle nuances of playing that can only come with age and further life experience. In spite of this, it’s common knowledge that he is still a prodigy, with his phenomenally successful reception around the world at just thirty-one years of age.

The final section has only just begun, full of tension, and Kylo plays it like it’s a tsunami, fully exploiting his expertise. It gentles again into shallow waves for a moment, ebbing and flowing.

Then it crests magnificently, heavily.

This particular piece has cemented itself as another of her favorites, that’s for sure.

A cynical part of her notes that it’s the first time she’s attended a true concert after dreaming about it since her later teenage years, when she’d become obsessed with classical music. The momentous occasion and the equally momentous architecture are doing things to her head. It’s just a psychological response to a new wonder.

Maybe it’s true. But that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy it, this newfound feeling. One thing’s for sure — she’ll be saving up to go to the Verbier Festival next year in Switzerland.

The sonata ends softly, as if the agitation had never happened, and the audience bursts into applause as Kylo rises from his seat, _not a single hair out of place_. Well, not from this distance anyway. “No wonder you two are best friends,” she yells into Hux’s ear to get the words through over the din. “Your hair.”

Hux laughs and whoops at Kylo, who throws another inscrutable half-smile in their direction, his lips tilting up at one side. Rey sees the high flush in his cheekbones, and she mentally notes another reason for his popularity: his dark, expressive looks _have_ to be a hit with most of his fans.

She spends intermission poking fun at Hux, calling him by his first name in mock reprimand for nodding off at his friend’s sublime performance.

“What kind of name is _Armitage_ anyway?” he grouses.

“It’s pretentious, just like your pretentious ass, walking around in your power suits all the damn time.” She marvels at their surroundings again. Really, she’d never expected a medium-sized island made up of cliffs to have a concert hall of _this_ scale.

“I’m a chartered accountant. All of us dress like that, just like you guys in your lab coats and goggles. My father is the pretentious ass.”

Rey wrinkles her nose. “I agree with you on that.”

“We’re not leaving immediately after it ends,” Hux says abruptly, giving her a sideways smile. At her questioning glance, he adds, “There’s something I have to do.”

The significance in his tone catches up with Rey immediately, and she gasps. “You’re meeting him? Backstage?”

He laughs, his red hair gilded in gold as it catches the light. “It’s going to be a traffic nightmare when it ends, so we’ve agreed to that, yeah.”

“Wait, _we’re_ not leaving immediately?” she echoes. Her heart is soaring with anticipation — the adrenaline and excitement in her veins already eclipsing that she felt earlier, before the concert had started.

Hux sighs. “Why are you asking the obvious, Niima?”

She stares at him, not daring to hope.

He rolls his eyes. “Of course you’re coming.”

When intermission ends and Kylo returns to the stage, to thundering applause, there's a prickling sensation in her veins, a certain restlessness that drives her to fidgeting with anticipation. It’s an apt emotion, though, as he begins _Gaspard de la Nuit_.

The first movement is like water, falling and flowing, woven with cascades. The tone sounds foreign somehow, and Rey has to admit that she can’t truly appreciate it the first time. According to Wikipedia, the _Ondine_ is a tale of the water nymph Undine singing as she seduces her observer to her kingdom at the bottom of a lake.

The second, _Le Gibet_ , is macabre in its quiet. It brings to mind an arid desert and the lone corpse of a hanged man on a gibbet. Kylo plays it like a secret — a terrible one. Rey shudders involuntarily.

Deserts bring back bad memories she’d rather bury.

_Scarbo_ , the third movement, is said to be the one of the most technically difficult in the history of solo performances. Rey tries to reconcile the uneven tones with the poem it’s inspired by, a goblin flitting in and out of mischief, as Kylo carries on with seeming ease and flawless control.

Hux murmurs in her ear, “I have no idea what he’s doing.”

“This is an incredible work,” she says softly. “But yeah, it’s not easy to digest.”

“Understatement.”

Deafening waves of applause emanate through the hall as Kylo ends his final piece for the night. Rey and Hux rise with the rest of the audience in a standing ovation as Kylo bows gracefully, his godforsaken hair still annoyingly perfect.

His every movement is a flourish, as he finally gives the crowd a small smile. Rey has been watching what videos there are of him on YouTube feverishly for years, but those smiles have always been few and far between.

It’s a pity that she can’t see it closer, see his eyes squinting and his teeth flashing — and she _swears_ that there are other women, and possibly a few men, sighing around her.

Hux rolls his eyes. “Handsome bastard.”

Rey snorts. “Hard to admit, isn’t it?”

“He’s the one who can’t come to terms with it,” Hux says. “People have been bowled over by his looks ever since he started performing, but he always downplays it. He thinks he’s odd-looking.”

Rey can only stare in incredulity as another man walks out to the stage from behind to give Kylo a huge bouquet of flowers. He accepts them generously and bows to the crowd again before making his exit.

* * *

Even in the silence, Rey can almost hear the ghost of Kylo’s music reverberating softly through the ornate hall. 

She’d rushed to the restroom to wash her face and stare at herself in the mirror, allowing herself exactly ten seconds to freak out.

She is going to meet _Kylo Ren_.

The realization crashes down around her, and she can almost hear the sound of breaking ice. Her reflection gazes back at her, pale and sickly in the lighting of the restroom, lips pinched, eyes wide with apprehension, hair already limp and straggling.

She knows that she should leave her hair down, but it’s frustrating and so _damn_ annoying, brushing just past her shoulders and sticking up all over the place and tickling her cheek —

Before she can second-guess herself, the hair ties are out of her clutch and she’s tying up three buns with a self-assuredness that can only come with years of practice. Then she forces herself to walk out.

It’ll just be like meeting Normani or Chris Evans. She’ll be happy to meet him; he’ll indulge her with an autograph, a photo, maybe? And she can sit nonchalantly as Hux catches up with his best friend and do her utmost best not to eavesdrop.

Hux assesses her but doesn’t say anything regarding her appearance. He knows better than that.

Backstage, he looks around, scanning for Kylo, muttering curses under his breath. It wasn’t easy getting there, with the personnel trying to bar their entry until Hux had snapped at them that he and Kylo have known each other since high school, and they could go to hell.

Instead of marveling at Hux’s methods of garnering entry — really, a simple phone call ought to do it — Rey’s mind is wreaking havoc, forcing her to perversely act as if she wasn’t looking for, well, anyone at all, when her nerves are making her sweat even in the cool environment.

Ironically, she sees him first.

He’s ditched the suit jacket, and stands at a small table that’s toward the corner of the dimly-lit room, his shoulders slightly hunched — as if trying to make himself smaller.

Little good it’s doing. She sees the way his white shirt is straining over the breadth of his shoulders.

Hux notes that she’s stopped in her tracks, and does the same, casting his gaze to where she’s staring.

Kylo Ren sees him, his face lighting up in recognition as he straightens.

Rey is in a haze. She doesn’t know that her feet have carried her to where the men are now, clasping each other’s shoulders and saying things that are too soft for her to hear clearly.

She fidgets, trying to maintain her confident stance, the one she uses when she’s trying to prove something to a colleague at work. Rey has had her fair share of bad luck, but she’d been valedictorian in senior year, then graduated _magna cum laude_ from college. She’s cruising through her work now at the institute, even with the occasional long night —

Hux grabs her arm to pull her closer to him, a not-so-nice smirk on his face and a conspiratorial gleam in those green eyes. She makes an involuntary sound of protest, but stops short when she feels someone’s gaze burning on her, feebly squirming and muttering incoherently about how she can handle herself.

All her antics falter when she looks up at Kylo, who has drawn himself up fully opposite her.

She knows he’s handsome, but seeing him in person…there’s an entirely different energy to him. Not just refined, sophisticated, slightly intimidating due to his height.

Scratch that. Kylo Ren is _extremely_ intimidating, his searing stare branding her like hot coals, the planes of his face illuminated in some places and cast in shadow in others due to the strategically placed lighting. He is so tall, so consuming. Rey hears her own sharp intake of breath.

He hasn’t stopped looking at her.

“She’s the friend I mentioned,” Hux says, breaking the mounting tension. Full-on grinning, he continues, “Rey. She’s a big fan.”

“Armitage,” Rey hisses, batting at his arm. This isn’t going the way she’d envisioned. Hux shrugs, producing a manila card and a permanent marker out of nowhere. “She’d _love_ an autograph.”

Kylo tilts his head, considering his best friend.

“He _is_ a little shit, right?”

Rey’s adoration for him so far has been mostly superficial, confined to his incredible prowess in concert halls, and his appearance. She feels the high regard increase tenfold, however, when he asks her that, his plush lips twitching in the beginnings of a smile, his voice soft, raspy and deep in all the right ways.

He isn’t effusive, overly enthusiastic, or downright cold and aloof, like some celebrities are. She approves of him as a pianist _and_ a person, because he’s in the middle, just right.

Something tells her that he can be intimidating when he wants to be, like the way he had been looking at her before Hux opened his stupid mouth.

Come to think of it, Rey’s grateful that he’s done so.

And she really wants that autograph.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Ren.” She ignores Hux choking on a laugh, pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin as she gives the man her prettiest smile. “I’m Rey, and you’re right. Hux is an idiot.”

“Please, call me Kylo.” That voice again, smoother than caramel. “I’m truly thankful that someone agrees.”

Without further preamble, she grabs the card and marker from Hux, who’s sporting an expression of mock scandal, and passes it to Kylo. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t judge, and Rey adds more marks to the ever-growing list of Kylo’s good points in her mind.

His signature is as strong as he looks. She suppresses a smile at how well the day has gone. An awesome experience at her first concert, followed by a meeting with the virtuoso himself.

There’s a foreign, fluttery feeling in her heart. Rey knows it boils down to the novelty of meeting someone like him, so blindingly handsome and larger than life.

She ignores the contemplative, intense stares Kylo seems to direct at her every now and then, as he chats with Hux about his tour, how he’s staying in Ahch-To now that it has ended. She ignores him biting his lip when he looks at her from underneath his lashes, her breaths growing shorter in response.

If there is something Rey is really good at besides her work, it’s compartmentalizing, shoving confusing things that she doesn’t know how to explain into the proverbial box beneath her bed.

A week later, she looks fondly at the card Kylo signed, already framed and hanging on the wall in her apartment, as she talks to Rose on the phone. The strange, heady mix of emotions is completely forgotten.

That's what she tells herself, anyway. Kylo Ren is out of her league, distant as a supernova and just as incandescent — who is she to entertain notions of anything more?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been pretty much MIA for a very long time. College and finals have been collectively hitting me in the face. Here's the second chapter! Hope you guys enjoy!!

Rey was seventeen when she visited the beach for the first time.

Her high school friends were with her then. Kaydel Ko Connix and Jessika Pava, laughing as they pulled Rey along, as she tried not to feel awkward about the faded tee and denim cutoffs she’d been wearing, woefully inadequate compared to their neon-colored bikinis.

They didn’t seem to mind, though, as they snapped photos with Jess’s camera and giggled madly at every buff, shirtless guy emerging from the surf.

Rey remained unusually quiet, her mood pensive despite the vibrant summer atmosphere. Of course, her two friends had no idea that she’d never been to the beach.

How could she, when she’d only known arid desert for most of her life? Desolate and unending, she had a clear recollection of the exhaustion and lethargy that seemed to hang over Jakku, the cloud of dust that appeared to perpetually hover in the air. She remembered Unkar Plutt bellowing at her to get more of the abysmal, sour beer from the rundown convenience store — the only halfway-decent store for miles — as she tried to figure out her math homework.

She kicked at the sand, ignoring the slight sting of fractured seashells as they dug into her bare feet. Rey was living with Rose Tico, the effervescent girl who shared Math and Physics classes with her, and life was much, much better despite having to juggle a work shift on top of her hectic academic schedule. Yet the wound was still too fresh, not yet a faded scar she could ignore.

As Jess and Kaydel sat down on a mat, slathering sunscreen on each other’s bodies, she took it all in. Rey had already decided that she hated the sand — really, it would take nothing short of a miracle for her to even _like_ it – but the sea, the sea in all its glittering blue expanse —

It was an infinite stretch of aquamarine and sapphire, constantly moving and teeming with liveliness, the direct opposite of the stasis and deathlike trance of the desert — beautiful to some, she knew in some distant part of her mind.

Never for her, though.

_This_ was what she’d always wanted all along. Rey did not hear her friends chatting about inane matters, the children crying as the waves swept away the sandcastles they’d so painstakingly built. She continued observing the waves lapping at the shore, the cries of seagulls in the briny wind, the raw, unchecked potential of the deep, dark, hypnotic blue beyond.

There was freedom in those frothy waves.

Thus began her obsession with the ocean. At twenty-five, when she received an email from the Marine Institute of Ahch-To accepting her application, she cried into Rose’s shoulder. Rose, who would be there too, as a computer scientist.

“Of course I’ll be with you,” Rose had said then, holding her.

Ahch-To is a drafty, rocky island, full of jutting cliffs that rise over the roiling sea. The elements are harsh sometimes, but Rey _loves_ living there. Staring down at the waves when there is the smell of ozone in the air and the ocean frothing black in the dead of night, she feels the closest to the freedom for which she’s always yearned. She loves the wildness in them as they crash against the rocks, sea spray gleaming white as the darkness is split by lightning.

Ten years since the first time she saw the sea, she’s wrapping up for the day, piling her research papers haphazardly, humming along to the generic pop song she’d heard earlier this morning on the way to the institute.

It’s Saturday, and normally she would never bother to show up, but Professor Erso-Andor is overseeing the project. Everyone at the institute knows that she’s not to be trifled with.

—Nevertheless, Rey has done things in advance, so she’s allowed to bail.

Finn is waiting for her outside the institute, a tan leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders, dark skin gleaming as he breaks into a smile at the sight of her.

“Rey!” He envelops her in an enthusiastic hug. She returns the embrace, her heart fuzzy and full of love for her friend. He’s always _so_ happy to see her.

“Where’s Poe?” she asks, smirking at him as they pull away from each other.

“I’m here,” Poe Dameron drawls, a rakish grin on his face, windswept black waves falling into his face. He brushes them from his eyes casually, his head tilted to the side to put his handsome, chiseled features to full advantage.

—Finn’s cheeks darken alarmingly.

Rey can only laugh. Her two friends only got together a week ago, after dancing around each other for ages. She, Hux, and Rose had looked on from the sidelines, observing their bumbling, awkward denial of the feelings they harbored for one another. It had been hilarious, but exasperating.

Exasperating enough that Rose had put her foot down one day. “Okay,” she’d declared to Hux and Rey one afternoon. “Here’s the thing. They should be together but they’re idiots about it, so we’re going to do something.” 

Rey remembers the devious gleam in Rose’s dark eyes. She remembers Rose plying Finn and Poe with drinks last weekend, playing upon Poe’s lack of brain-to-mouth filter when he’s inebriated — not that he had one to begin with. But with alcohol, it’s much worse.

Rey can’t begrudge her friends their happiness, but still…

She looks at them now, Finn smiling shyly when Poe slings an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss on his temple.

Rose Tico is definitely an unstoppable force of nature. Rey loves her though, and she’s certain that the two men strolling down the rise in front of them down to the seaside are eternally indebted to the petite woman.

Poe turns his head to her. “Come on,” he says. “You’re not a bodyguard.”

“Yeah, I’m not.” She raises a brow. “I’m just a long-suffering friend trying to keep myself sane from your…” Rey makes a vague gesture at the two of them, their shadows lengthening on the golden sand, dark hair gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. “I don’t know.”

She joins them anyway, her mind whispering that she’s a total idiot for intruding on them — being the new lovebirds that they are. The fact that she has _also_ agreed to have dinner with them at Poe’s strengthens the conviction.

For a while, it’s perfectly fine. Rey half-listens to their conversation, pointedly ignoring them when Poe makes a remark about Finn and his supposedly hidden charms, making the other man blush. The sun is unforgiving today, but that makes the sea even lovelier.

She is content watching glimmers of sunlight dancing across the cresting waves. Rey loves the sea in turmoil, dangerous and wild. But if there’s anything she loves more, it’s the sea in tranquility.

The waves lap against the shore, constant and unchanging. Silly as it is, Rey likes to think that they can go wherever they want with total liberty — scientific facts be damned.

—Yet they always return to the shore in the end. Wherever they go, they _come back_. Like the waxing and waning of the moon, the Earth’s orbit around the Sun. Eternal.

Her mood darkens inexplicably.

Somewhere along their idle stroll, Rey has again fallen behind. The men are in front now, teasing each other.

She is happy for them, but still —

A third wheel. This is what she is, at the moment.

Because she’s always been one left behind. Rey is aware that she is worthy of every good thing in this world, but it doesn’t diminish the fact that she’s just _not enough_.

—Not beautiful enough, not assertive enough.

—Not good enough for someone to stay.

At the rate Hux and Rose are going, Rose’ll probably be moving out of the apartment she shares with Rey by the time the year is out. Finn and Poe are completely head-over-heels for each other.

Leaving her in the dust.

She was literally left in the dust the first time, by a deserted highway, choking on the dry air, tears tracking through the grime streaking her face.

For a child of that age, it was a horror beyond imagination, to be helpless like that — tiny and confused, surrounded by unending dunes and winding roads. It had seemed like a portent, the fear in her heart pounding away, spawning thoughts of perpetual loneliness, that no one would love her —

—she feels the same now, seeing Finn and Poe, giddy and exuberant; or Hux and Rose, steadily advancing through life hand in hand, permanent fixtures in each other’s lives. 

Rey tries to push down the memories, forcing herself to look at the ocean sprawling wide before her. The sea breeze messes up her hair, and she inhales the sharp, salty scent in the air.

_There’s an ocean in her mind —_

_The sound of the waves is a soothing rhythm in her ears —_

_There’s an island in the middle, lush and verdant —_

Reality blends with imagination, coalescing until she does not know where one ends and the other begins.

A hand squeezes her shoulder, and Rey opens her eyes, slightly reeling from the waking dream. It’s Poe, his dark eyes concerned, lashes fanning across his high cheekbones when he blinks down her. Finn is on her other side, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You’re a little off today, Rey,” he says gently. “Are you okay?”

Her hand is trembling as she tucks a tendril of hair behind an ear. “Yeah,” she says, as convincingly as she can. “I’m just tired.”

They don’t respond.

Annoyance rises up in her when she realizes that they’re lost in their own world again, and she looks up —

It’s _him_.

* * *

He’s staring at her with the expression of a deer caught in headlights.

Finn and Poe are frowning. The former leans over and hisses into Rey’s ear, “Do you know him?”

The weather is reasonably warm, already putting a faint flush to her cheeks, but she can feel her face reddening further as she takes him in. Her limbs lock themselves in place; Rey finds that she can't open her mouth, do something — _anything_ to move beyond her funk.

This is precisely like the first time. Even at a distance, Rey feels a dormant tension awakening, humming between them and impossible to ignore.

She can’t haul ass right now, not when the recognition must be written across both their faces. “I know him,” she tells her friends, her eyes fixed on Kylo Ren as his initial shock fades away. There’s still a notably guarded look on his face, but it’s composed and put-together.

Rey knows that she looks the same.

“Good to see you again, Kylo,” she begins, wincing inwardly when her voice emerges a little _too_ cheerfully.

“Kylo?” Poe asks, bewildered. “Kylo who?”

—Finn elbows him, to Rey’s eternal gratitude.

Kylo approaches them, his gait graceful as he pads across the soft sand. Rey’s lips quirk as an unconscious memory surfaces, of Finn and Poe trudging clumsily on the beach, leaving disturbed clods of sand in their wake.

“Rey.” His tone is distant, but polite.

She _should_ be offended. But there’s another jarring realization drowning out her common sense. He remembers her name. Rey doesn’t know how she managed to call out to him in such a familiar way, but it’s almost visceral, instinctual — that they’d remember each other.

Her heart is beating overtime.

They’re face to face now, both squinting as the sunlight beams down on them. They are also at a loss for words.

“So.” Finn breaks the silence. “Care for introductions?”

Rey has been grateful for Finn on numerous occasions, including just before when he elbowed his boyfriend before he could ruin the moment with his usual lack of filter. This adds one more to the list, reminding her why he is such an amazing person. 

His smile is blinding in its affability, posture open and welcoming. Finn’s looking at Kylo like they’re longtime buddies instead of total strangers. The latter appears perplexed as he regards him, now having slung an arm around Rey’s shoulders.

“Um,” Rey begins, doing them all a favor and slicing through the mounting awkwardness with a hasty lie. “Kylo’s an old friend. We haven’t seen each other for a long time. Years, in fact,” she says, her mental faculties short-circuiting and prompting her to blurt the first plausible explanation that comes to mind.

Poe frowns and opens his mouth, but Rey shoots him a dark look.

Kylo’s faintly bemused expression smooths away; he cocks his head, assuming his former insouciant demeanor to play along with her, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks — who wears those to beaches anyway? — and saying, “Yeah. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

His fucking _voice_.

Rey is caught by a sudden, fleeting desire to _run_. It kindles in her veins, threatening to override her common sense. The part of her that screams this — spending time with Finn and Poe when she’s clearly the odd one out, agreeing to dinner with them even — is a bad idea, also coaxes her to make a run for it in the same breath. 

What’s one more questionable decision? Anything, anything at all to get out of this, before she is swallowed whole by her own spiraling thoughts.

She’s not in the headspace for rational thinking at the moment. She doesn’t give a shit.

“Finn? Poe?” Rey moves to Kylo’s side, ignoring the way he stiffens in surprise. “I’ll just — you know, take a rain check on that dinner.” She gestures to her and Kylo. “You guys have fun.”

Before she can second-guess herself, Rey loops her arm around Kylo’s and strides off quickly without looking back. Or as quickly as is possible when she’s essentially tugging along an entirely confused giant of a man.

She’s sure Finn and Poe are confused. Hell, even _she_ is confused.

“Actually,” Kylo begins abruptly. They halt on the golden sand, and Rey stares at him as he smooths back his hair, eyes averted. As if he can’t bear to look at her. She mentally prepares herself for him to shrug her off, make an excuse to leave. It’s only reasonable — she’s the one who had practically jumped him while he was no doubt on a stroll to clear his head or something.

“I know a place.” His voice has pitched an octave lower, as if he’s unsure. “If you…want to talk.”

Her derailed thoughts screech to a halt.

“Your call,” he adds hastily. Rey looks at him then. There’s a high flush on the pale skin of his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears, which peek out through the lush halo of his raven-black hair, mussed by the strong winds.

She notes the constellation of beauty marks and freckles, the strong slope of his nose, the elegance of his profile, and tries to tamp down the blush rising to her face.

Maybe it’s the comical awkwardness of his posture, so at odds with the self-assured, darkly confident pianist who could entrance a crowd with a sweep of his fingers over piano keys. Maybe it’s the softness of his gaze, or the mess that’s going on and on inside Rey’s head, demanding catharsis, relief, _companionship_.

“Lead the way,” she tells him, and something like shock flits across his strong features. He only nods, however.

She’s pretty sure that wherever his destination is, it’ll be somewhere she knows, having visited this beach frequently for more than two years, always walking around aimlessly, lost in her thoughts as she tries to drown them in the sound of the sea.

They go from fine sand to gritty rock that crunches beneath their feet. It’s conspicuously loud, especially when both of them seem to be religiously holding on to silence.

Rey tries to observe him furtively out of the corner of her eye, but he’s too close, and she’s too short to be able to do so without looking like some kind of star-struck idiot.

—She wonders idly, as she finds herself standing on a rocky outcropping overlooking the waves below, whether he’s already an expert in handling people who are star-struck when they see him.

There’s a slight lurch in her stomach when she registers just how high up they are. The wind is infinitely stronger here, whipping her hair around her face. It looks dangerous, despite the railing standing a little way before the unforgiving edge of the cliff, the only thing between safety and certain death.

“When I need to think, I come here,” Kylo says, his gaze fixed upon some point in the far-off horizon. “I find it easier, for some reason.”

She makes a muffled sound of agreement. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, gripping the railing and looking down. Unlike the tranquil, dreamy blue-green color she’s accustomed to seeing at the beach, the waters here are a midnight blue-black and volatile, the harsh sound of the waves dashing against the rocks an indicator of how much strength they possess. The sun is shining as strongly as ever, but looking down, she can feel the storm brewing from beneath in her very bones.

“Why were you trying to run earlier?” Kylo asks, settling beside her. His eyes are searching now, darting across her face as he tries to read her expressions.

Rey exhales. Really, this — whatever it _is_ — it doesn’t feel coincidental, as if an elusive hand has been dealt them both by some higher power. Because there’s no way he’s able to discern her true intentions, not when he’s spoken to her, met her a grand total of one time.

She doesn’t need to tell him. It’s not his business, after all, but she says it all the same. “I just can’t be around them right now. They’ve only been together for a week —” Clearing her throat, she continues, with a self-deprecating smile. “You know how it is.”

His lips tilt into that almost-smile she’s rapidly associating with him. “I do.”

Another beat of silence, a comfortable one this time as they soak in the majesty of the nature around them. She picks up the conversation this time, asking him about life in Ahch-To, now that he’s taking a break from his tour.

“I was born here,” he says. “Ahch-To will always be my home, no matter what. Before my tour, I’d been staying in Coruscant for years, and let’s just say that despite everything you might’ve heard, it’s not that great. The traffic alone…”

“You were playing with the orchestra there?” The Coruscant Philharmonic Orchestra is world-renowned, held in equal regard with the likes of the Berlin Philharmonic.

“No,” he replies curtly, his expression hard. Changing tack, he says, “Enough about me, though. You don’t look like you’re from here, Rey. What brought you to our windswept island?”

This is a story she can tell, she thinks, even as she notes that he has again assumed another thing about her correctly. “Are you a psychic? How do you know that I’m not from here?”

Kylo shrugs. “It’s in the way you look at the sea. You’re looking at it as if you’ve never seen it before in your life.”

“I’m from the mainland,” Rey says, not elaborating further about her so-called origins. He doesn’t pry. “But I’ve always been fascinated with the sea. I came here for school, all the way through to my masters, and then I was posted here for research. I’m a chemical oceanographer,” she tells him with no small amount of pride. 

“It’s the job I’ve always wanted to have,” she continues, closing her eyes as she relishes the wild cry of the seabirds as they circle overhead. “Ahch-To has everything I want in my life. The sea, the people, the environment…”

When she next opens her eyes, Kylo’s staring at her as if he’s never seen her before. There’s something gleaming in his eyes, some foreign surprise that he quickly conceals by passing a hand over his face. Rey doesn’t care — her heart is so full to bursting, she feels like she’s standing at the edge of the world itself.

“And the weather?” he prompts gently. “Please don’t tell me that you love the storms.” His tone is dry as he regards her.

“Oh, but I do.” She raises her brows. “The storms are beautiful; don’t you think?”

“Next you’ll be telling me that — that tidal waves with the power to sweep everything away are magnificent.”

“Hey!” Rey knows that he’s joking, even if his face is so chillingly expressionless. However, one little detail is niggling at her, just one —

It’s not a _little_ detail.

More like a major pet peeve.

“That’s the problem with books and movies,” she bites out. “Tidal waves are _not_ tsunamis, or any sort of natural disaster. They’re just normal waves caused by the gravitational interactions between the sun, moon and earth.” Kylo looks faintly amused, and she snaps, “It’s true! All those allusions and sad declarations about romance being a tidal wave, catching people off-guard and drowning them like a tsunami before they know what’s going on are just wrong, period. It’s reinforcing the misunderstanding about a perfectly natural and harmless phenomenon.”

Rey can feel the flush on her cheeks, though she has no idea if it’s due to agitation or self-consciousness on her part. Oh, well, he probably has zero interest in her stupid spiels.

She refuses to look at him, despite feeling his gaze burning into hers. “You played beautifully that day,” she offers tentatively when the silence again stretches out. There’s a certain recklessness in her today that she can’t ignore, so she decides to indulge it, throwing all caution to the wind. Finn and Poe are presumably displeased with her previous actions, but Rey knows that they’ll thank her in hindsight. “It was my first concert.”

Kylo gives her a lopsided grin. She wonders what it’ll take for him to smile a _full_ smile, with teeth and squinted eyes and scrunched-up nose.

She wonders if she has the ability to make him do so.

“Well, then, I suppose I should thank you for giving me a chance for your first?” His tone is light, casual. “Though I know that Hux badgered you into going with him.”

“Yeah,” Rey says. “His girlfriend doesn’t like classical music at all.”

“Good for him, then. I know he was sleeping as I slogged my way through those pieces.”

She snorts.

“What do you love about classical music, anyway?” he inquires curiously. “Do you play any instrument?”

“No,” she says softly. “I just love listening. If — if I had a chance, I’d love to learn the piano or the violin, but —” she makes a face. “Listening is good enough for me. It’s like taking a breath of fresh air, because I’m stuck in a clinical, scientific environment most of the time. I keep feeling like I’ll calcify if I don’t let myself enjoy things other than my work, even if I love it.”

“Art is a good counterweight, yes,” Kylo affirms, and she goes on, “Mostly because there are so many choices, you know? There’s Haydn and Bach and Vivaldi if I need to center myself from all the chaos in my work, or the more angsty ones like Beethoven or Chopin when I need someone...or something to commiserate with me. I have Rose, Hux, Finn and Poe — the other two guys you met just now — to talk to whenever I want, and they’re awesome, but sometimes.” Her voice softens into a quiet certainty. “Sometimes, _no one_ can truly understand what’s going on in your head, except for yourself. I think that being able to find the piece that suits my headspace at that time is the best, because the music is a song with no words, only feelings. And when you feel them in your soul…it’s like the best kind of solace there is. ”

She trails off, seeing that Kylo now has a haunted look on his face. “I’m sorry for saying all that,” she hastily adds. “If it made you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no,” he replies. “I can relate to what you’re saying. It’s one of the reasons why I love music so much. I’m not that good around people, so I can only express what I feel through playing.”

“I’ve listened to your stuff for a long time,” Rey blurts without any ounce of self-preservation. The heat creeping up her neck is no deterrent. “On YouTube, I mean. You’re the one pianist whose music…resonates.”

He emits a sound that might’ve been a chuckle, cutting her off. “Obviously you’ve never heard what my critics have to say about me.”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone has their likes and dislikes. Just because your style isn’t approved by some old professor at a stuffy music conservatory doesn’t mean that it can’t appeal to _me_. I enjoy other musicians’ performances too, but the way you play…I can’t explain it, the way it _clicks_.”

“I’m honored, truly,” he says, oddly formal. The look in his eyes is anything but. His stare is piercing, the early evening sun casting the angular planes of his face in stark relief, the rich brown of his eyes limned in liquid gold, searing in its intensity.

Rey can’t stop looking at him.

“What if you —” he begins, uncertain, and her eyes drop to where his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “— come over to my place? I’ll — I’ll play for you, whatever you want.” He blushes again, this great, hulking man with his unbearably handsome face and pianist’s natural charisma. “If you want to, that is.”

There’s a sudden weight in her heart, a significant voice in her head, telling her something is happening. Good or bad, she doesn’t know. But _oh_ , she wants it, whatever it is.

“Yes,” she says. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the music begins to come in! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you do too :) Comments and kudos are always appreciated!

Rose practically squeals when Rey tells her that Kylo has invited her over to listen to him play.

They’re seated at the small table in their dining space, and Rey is, with no better word for it, freaking out.

“He texted me his address, since I was an idiot and wouldn’t let him come over to pick me up when he offered,” she groans, her face buried in her arms. “I looked it up, and apparently it’s this tucked-away bungalow, because he’s _loaded_.”

Rose huffs. “Obviously.” She leans forward, dark eyes gleaming with excitement. “I’m so happy for you, Rey,” she says sweetly. “Finally, after an eternity of saying _I’m-not-interested-Rose-go-away_ ,” she continues in a singsong voice. “Rey Niima is going out with a guy.”

“I’m not going out with him!” she protests. “He’s Hux’s friend, and I’m Hux’s friend; why can’t we be friends? Kylo is just being kind to let me listen to him as he _practices_ , which is no doubt a major part of every pianist’s life.”

“Kylo is just being kind,” Rose parrots with a grin. “Listen to you. He’s hot, isn’t he?” she whispers in a conspiratorial manner, tapping a lacquer-red nail on the tabletop as her glossy black hair falls forward.

Rey blushes. _Traitor_ , she admonishes her body.

“I knew it.” Her roommate rises from the table. “Go easy on yourself,” she says, her expression earnest and kind. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you.” Eyes twinkling, she carries on, “Armie says he’s a really decent guy, if not a little socially awkward. Have fun, Rey. You’ll hit it off with him, and we’ll see what happens then.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, Rose,” she retorts, but it’s a weak denial at best.

The thought of Kylo Ren brings back memories of a grandly opulent concert hall and a dashing figure coaxing out an elegiac tune on an equally beautiful piano. It brings back the scent of sandalwood and white musk and the sharp tang of brine, the dizzying view down a dangerous cliff to unfathomably deep storm-blue waters, and the warmth of eyes in every shade of brown as they look into Rey’s with such raw, unguarded emotion that her heart _flips_ end over end in its recollection.

She gasps as something soft lands in her lap. It’s a simple light gray shirt with a demure lace collar, and a pair of leggings. “Wear those with the red flats — the one with the ribbon,” says Rose, reaching into the jar where she stashes her oreos. “God knows you would turn up at Kylo Ren’s house in what you’re wearing right now if it weren’t for my intervention.”

“I would not,” Rey protests weakly, but she knows that it’s entirely plausible, looking down at her comfy white graphic tee and beige shorts.

In the same text, Kylo has also mentioned that she doesn’t need to grab dinner before she heads over to his place. A sudden, vague image appears in her mind — the two of them holed up on a swanky white leather couch, boxes of Chinese takeout on the coffee table as Kylo waxes poetic about some composer in between bites of Yangzhou fried rice.

She puts on the clothes and grabs her bag before heading for the door, feeling faintly nervous. Shaking her head, Rey dismisses the feeling, turning away when she sees the frame proudly displaying Kylo’s graceful signature on pristine white.

Evenings in Ahch-To are pleasantly cool, not outright cold like Jakku had been. The sky is awash in hues of violet and blue, threaded with vibrant orange, and Rey stops in her tracks just to take it all in for a moment. It’s rare that there are virtually no clouds, even in the far horizons.

— She feels that she could drown in those colors, in the sky, so boundless and infinite.

Her apartment block is one situated relatively near to the sea. It’s why she chose it in the first place, to be able to look out into the blue beyond, breathe in the salty sea air the moment she opens the windows.

Kylo Ren’s place is the same. It takes her more than fifteen minutes to reach, since it’s more obscurely located than she had thought. After going in circles for a while, she finally drives up a narrow but well-paved trail, humming along to the cranky radio in her old Toyota.

She gasps when the bungalow — scratch that, it’s a fucking _mansion_ — comes into view, situated on a rocky outcropping overlooking the sea. Rey’s mouth is agape as she absorbs the two-story white and gray sandstone, the simple but no less intimidating gates already opening to welcome her.

She drives into the massive space, her heart thumping like crazy, relieved that she wasn’t wearing what she’d originally planned to. Within the gates, the house rises up imposingly in all its dizzying grandeur of simple, clean lines. Her car probably looks like it had been salvaged from a junkyard in comparison.

Her worries vanish in the wind that ruffles her hair, tickling her collarbones, when she sees Kylo leaning against the doorway, clad in a black tee and sweatpants.

“Hi,” Rey says breathlessly, drawing up her eyes to his face before they could fixate on his chest, showing through the tight confines of his shirt. She’s careful to avoid staring at his arm – those _muscles_ – when he reaches up to brush back his hair.

“Come on in,” he says warmly.

She steps in, physically forcing her face to remain blank before her features can assume an overly awestruck expression. The swanky white leather couch indeed exists, to her amusement, behind a sleek mahogany coffee table. The interior is like that of an award-winning entry in a design magazine, only on a much, much larger scale.

It’s all elegant lines, the diffuse white lighting strategically placed to put the furniture to best advantage. The same color dominates the space, but there are slight hints of cream and beige to offset the harsh brightness, lending it a certain coziness.

“Your home is lovely,” she murmurs, looking up at him.

“Thanks.” The word is quiet but sincere, but when she tries to gauge his expression again, he turns away. “I’ve prepared dinner,” he says, a little abashedly. “Nothing elaborate…but I hope you like it.”

“Oh!” She exclaims. “That’s wonderful, really.” Warmth suffusing every inch of her being, she continues, “I was expecting something along the lines of takeout.”

Kylo makes a sound suspiciously like a snort. “I wouldn’t let my guest eat takeout when I have everything I need in the kitchen.” Rey laughs at his tendency to fall back on old-time etiquette and his gentlemanly manners.

Rey’s love affair with food is a running joke with all of her friends and colleagues. When Kylo sets out the _pot-au-feu_ he’s prepared for them, she figures that he might be another willing participant in the aforementioned joke. He certainly looks entertained at her dreamy expression as she scrutinizes her dish, filled with beef and vegetables.

She moans into her first mouthful of the rich stock, disregarding Kylo’s faint flush. It’s so _good_ ; she’s hardly ever had the chance for food like this, evidently prepared with the same meticulousness he shows when playing the piano. Her meals at home are hastily thrown-together affairs, with Rose making the occasional bowl of _pho_ or Vietnamese spring rolls when the mood strikes. Hux, Finn, and Poe are better off burning down their kitchens.

When they’re done, Kylo brings out a bottle of Pinot Noir and two wine glasses on a tray, gesturing for Rey to follow him.

“I think you’ll like the music room,” he says, turning back to her with a secretive tilt to his lips. She nods, too engrossed in checking out the view from behind, eyes sweeping over the impossible breadth of his torso, the miles of strong, toned leg the sweatpants can’t quite hide.

Kylo steps to the side, opening a set of doors with something close to a smirk on his face and a flourish, and any remaining restraint Rey possesses to rein in her awe for his home dissipates.

Apart from the wall where the doors are situated, the rest of the panels surrounding the music room are made entirely of glass in floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a clear view outside — into the dark expanses of the sea at night. The black Steinway & Sons grand sits smack dab in the middle of the white marble, a light gold chaise longue tucked a small distance away, where an occupant might recline and enjoy Kylo’s playing and the breathtaking scenery simultaneously.

“Magnificent,” she murmurs.

Kylo turns a delightful shade of red, pivoting to place the tray on the chaise carefully. “I thought you would like it.” He keeps his face angled away from her, as if he can’t bear for her to see his expression.

“I do,” she reiterates. The promise of good music and an unparalleled view of the sea at night is nothing short of perfect. “What are you going to play, though?”

Kylo cocks his head, ruminating. It’s a while before he says slowly, uncertainly, “I love Chopin best — when I first began learning the piano, I listened to his music all the time.” His mouth quirks up ruefully. “My mom got so irritated with me putting on his Nocturnes so often, she yelled at me that they were awful.”

“What is she like? Your mother, I mean,” Rey asks tentatively.

There it is again, the fleeting shadow chasing his features, the same as when she asked whether he’d played with the Coruscant Philharmonic Orchestra. Kylo’s past is a prickly subject, it seems.

Just like it is for her.

She _understands_ what it’s like, to have a painful past that you’d rather hide from people prying in ignorance. She knows how hard it is.

Rey gives him a break. “So play Chopin for me, Kylo.” His eyes snap up to hers, the momentary tightening of his jaw disappearing as he relaxes — infinitesimally, but noticeably.

“I’ll play Chopin,” he says. “But it’s your first time here, and you’ve mentioned how much you love the sea, and Ahch-To, so I was thinking Ravel first. As a thank-you for accepting my offer.” His voice is pitched low, intimate, a warm rasp that he _definitely_ doesn’t know is sexy.

Rey’s heart jolts, a heady sensation settling into her bones. “You don’t have to thank me,” she says. “It’s what friends are for.”

She knows that it came out wrong, the moment she utters the last sentence. Their conversation has been cordial, friendly so far, but Kylo seems to be holding something back. It’s in the set of his shoulders — still tense — and the look in his eyes.

She, on the other hand, is sweating in her blouse, despite the air-conditioning. Her mouth feels dry.

“If you put it that way,” he says, moving over to the chaise, opening the bottle of the red wine and pouring a glass for her. She takes it, noting that his fingers seem to tremble a little as they near her outstretched hand.

The wine is fragrant with notes of red currants and ripe raspberry. Impossibly rich. Surmising the dazed ecstasy that she’s sure is written all over her face, Kylo points out, “It’s a 2012 _Grand Cru_ from the Cotes de Nuits.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snipes, embarrassed. “Just get on with the Ravel.”

He gives her a half-smile. “At once, my lady.” Her toes curl at that. “ _Une Barque sur L’Océan_ — A Boat on the Ocean it is. The third movement in his _Miroirs_ suite, written in F-sharp minor. You’ll tell me what you imagined from the music when I’m finished playing?” There’s a mischievous gleam in Kylo’s dark eyes.

Rey decides that she’s going to get him to speak more French. Those words rolling off his tongue —

_What the fuck, Rey? He’s just a friend, barely an acquaintance at that, you can’t think about his tongue —_

She clears her throat. “Stop stalling.” God, where was this bossy side of her coming from? She sounded like an impertinent idiot. That tone was reserved for Rose and Poe.

He doesn’t seem to mind, and she settles into the chaise, watching the light dancing across his form as he takes a deep breath before diving into the piece.

Kylo’s touch on the keys is inexplicably light and graceful, letting the notes wash over her as they ebb and flow. True to its name, it _does_ remind her of the ocean in its tranquility, despite the irregularity that makes up the nuances in the impeccable flow — the cascading waves are precisely notated. She’s entranced; there’s no other word for it, since the music is perfectly evocative of the gently rippling waters that she can see from the glass panels, beautiful and enigmatic in the distance.

A deep sense of serenity steals over her, right before the music intensifies and then subsides. Rey sees herself on a tiny boat, drifting across the currents in the dead of night, as if on her way to an intangible heaven.

It ends as softly as it begins.

Kylo stares at her, his blank expression only serving to hint at the nervousness beneath. Rey isn’t even sure that he _is_ nervous; she probably has an inflated sense of self-importance.

There’s a tic under his left eye, however.

“What did you see?” he asks gruffly.

“The ocean at night,” she tells him quietly, the surreal scene forming in her imagination as she sips at the sweet wine. “I’m alone on a tiny boat, the waves are calm but still uneven beneath me — as the sea always is — and I can see the stars wheeling above me in bright constellations.” She closes her eyes as she visualizes the scene. “It’s like a slice of heaven, peaceful and holy but so, so unfathomable.”

Rey feels Kylo’s piercingly contemplative stare. “Interesting.” His voice is a caress. “I take it that it’s not a tidal wave on your senses?”

“Please,” she groans, giving him a beleaguered frown. “Please don’t tease me on that one.”

He laughs then, the sound of it startling in the relative stillness. It’s hoarse, sudden, as if he’s rarely had cause to utter _any_ semblance of laughter in his life.

—The short sound brings a sudden wave of blood to Rey’s neck and cheeks, and she takes a gulp of wine, hoping that he’ll write off her furious blush to the influence of the alcohol. She’s not a lightweight, but neither is she a good drinker.

“You have to drive back, yes?” His gaze flickers to the glass in her hand, and he scratches the back of his head. “One more glass, and not more.”

“And who are you to dictate how much I should, or shouldn’t drink?” She scrunches up her nose.

“I’m thinking,” he muses, as he stalks over to her and pours a glass for himself. “that this side of you is the real you, and I’m happy that you’re showing it to me now.”

_Too fast_.

“No wonder Hux likes you this much,” he grouses.

“He likes me by extension of his girlfriend,” she replies, drinking in the view yet again. There’s some greenery at the immediate outside of the mansion from here, before the sheer drop of the cliff down to the stony beach, now invisible at high tide. The sea is calm tonight; the waves gentle against the land.

“Those.” She indicates with a jerk of her chin. “Those are tidal waves, Kylo.” He fills up her glass again with a sigh when she hands it out in a wordless request. “ _Don’t_ mistake them for tsunamis, for God’s sake.”

“I’ll be sure to remember,” he says gravely, but the twinkle in his eyes belies his tone. “They’re regular and shallow, and all that.”

She nods in approval.

“The next piece I’m going to play for you is Chopin’s first Ballade, in G minor.” He bites down on the swell of his full lower lip. “Ravel belongs to the Impressionist set via Chopin — reminiscent of emotions, landscapes and characters. Chopin’s music often has unexpected harmonies and sorrowful, plaintive interludes, possessing the landscapes of sound, with harmonies in his fleeting passage work. These are echoed in Ravel,” Kylo explains. “There is a hidden meaning, a poem of intense despair in his work. The _Miroirs_ was inspired by a quotation of Shakespeare: ‘The eye sees itself not, but by reflection, by some other things.’”

The passion is palpable in the rise and fall of his baritone voice, and Rey is loath to interrupt his spiel, but she’s dying to hear him play again, so she blurts, “How do you remember all that?”

_God, I’m an idiot_ , she thinks.

“After my expostulation about Maurice Ravel and his connection with Chopin, that’s all you have to say?” he asks jokingly, settling down on the bench and smirking at her. “What an injustice.”

“No one should be able to quote Shakespeare like that, much less use words like _plaintive interludes_ and — what was that again — _a poem of intense despair_ in daily conversation.” She narrows her eyes. “Or even _expostulation_.”

“If I were to play Chopin’s ballade in all its glorious, dolorous majesty, making you weep?” he quips. “Would you be amenable to my diction then?”

“Holy crap, Kylo. Just get on with it, or I swear, I’m going to down this entire bottle of 2012 whatever-it-is.”

His eyes widen in mock alarm at that, but he says nothing more, straightening as he faces the piano once more, falling into the pianist’s stance that makes him look like a devout acolyte supplicating at the feet of a goddess. Euterpe, probably, the Muse presiding over music, song and lyric poetry.

Music is the only religion for this man.

The introduction to the ballade is somber, majestic; the notes echo lingeringly in promise of what’s to come.

Chopin is Kylo’s favorite, but it’s _her_ favorite, too. The brief opening section fades into the first theme, beginning softly but somehow pregnant in its pauses, rising further until it reaches the first peak. She’s heard it enough times to anticipate the whirlwind of notes, and she sighs a little when it crashes down on her under Kylo’s expert skill. The second theme begins gracefully — a refined waltz — and Rey hums along to it under her breath.

Kylo’s expression is serious yet tender, before it morphs into the dazed rapture when he gets to the augmented, grandiose part of the same second subject. It’s as if he’s telling a story — a slow-burn romance, tempestuous with its zeniths and nadirs, punctuated with moments of lulling beauty; achingly, hauntingly beautiful.

The first questioning theme is heard again; Rey knows that it’s the eye of the storm. Kylo makes it a tantalizing cliffhanger, making her heart ratchet up in its beat when the final blast approaches inexorably.

The _presto_ is a whirlwind, and the piece ends in a storm of scales and octaves. Kylo is breathing hard when he comes down from it, the look in his eyes almost…unhinged.

“That was,” Rey sighs, “flawless.”

“It’s an all-time favorite,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “For what it’s worth, this is a largely planned composition. James Huneker wrote that it is the Odyssey of Chopin’s soul. Schumann commented that it seemed to be the work closest to his genius and he told him that he liked it the best of all his compositions, to which Chopin himself replied that he liked it most and held it dearest.”

“Know-it-all,” Rey replies with a smile. “Anyway, thank you. It’s really, really beautiful.”

Kylo’s caramel-colored eyes light up with genuine but quiet happiness as he drinks his wine. “All the better, with such sparkling company.” He raises his wineglass in a toast, smirking when Rey blushes again.

It’s been a long, long time since she’s felt this way.

She raises her own glass. “The same could be said of you.”

The wine is indescribably sweet.


	4. Chapter 4

He doesn’t understand what’s happening, not really.

Kylo stands at his doorway, watching Rey drive off in her beat-up car. There’s a weighty, sinking feeling in his stomach, words of caution snagging in his train of thought.

The first time he saw her backstage, he’d thought her pretty. When he’d seen her walking with those two friends of hers, his mouth had run dry — even more so when she actually deigned to drag him off like a sack of potatoes. Initially, he’d been bewildered, but her told the story.

Birds of a feather flock together — it’s the same when it comes to humans with an eventful past. The wistful look in one’s eyes or pained expression shadowing one’s features when one sees something and is reminded of it is always momentary before it’s smoothed away into neutrality, like shields snapping back up before an impenetrable fortress.

He’s never played with the Coruscant Philharmonic Orchestra, the conductor of which is his uncle, Luke Skywalker. His name is Ben Solo, heir to a musical family going back generations. From Anakin Skywalker, his grandfather, a legendary pianist, to his prima donna grandmother, Padme Amidala, down to his mother Leia Organa, born Leia Skywalker, the first chair of the Chandrila Symphony Orchestra and world-renowned virtuoso violinist.

He pushes away the thoughts of his father before they can rise.

The piano is like a lifeline for him, since he’s not particularly adept in expressing himself verbally, even when he has always felt everything more intensely. It’s why he’s so good at what he does.

Playing for Rey has awakened something in him. This foreign thing has only opened an eye, stretching luxuriantly, not showing the full force of its potential as yet.

He’s not good with people, and another friend would be a blessing, but they’re simply that — friends. He figures that it’s the newness of finding another one after so many years — someone other than Armitage Hux.

They’re friends, so he continues to invite her to his house — too big, too empty — where he cooks up his best dishes just to see her smile and fall upon the food with a relish that warms his heart. He plays Chopin and Mozart and Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata for her as rain sheets down outside, the music as roiling as the turbulent waves below. They clink glasses of wine and Rey tells him about her work and sings her praise for the sea — really, it’s borderline obsession — her small, elegant hands gesturing animatedly. He describes every piece he plays for her in detail, telling her about the music, enjoying the awed look she gives him every time he turns to her when he’s done.

He thinks that there is something wrong with him, this slow compulsion, the burgeoning need for the companionship of the slender woman with her hazel eyes and freckles. He knows that they’re just friends.

He knows that it’s all they ever will be.

Something in his heart sighs.

* * *

The dinners at Kylo’s home are a permanent fixture in her life now.

Her four friends stare at her skeptically from the living room of her and Rose’s apartment as she tries to pat down her hair into a semblance of order.

“I’ve never seen her this obsessed with her hair,” Poe whispers to Finn. “She always has those cute buns.”

Hux chokes into the martini Rose has made for him. Poe winces a little at the unwitting innuendo, shooting an apologetic glance at his boyfriend, who merely looks amused.

“If anything,” Hux says. “I bet our Rey’s thanking me for existing and having brought her to a certain event about two months ago.” He exchanges a smirk with Rose, who’s lying back on the couch with her feet propped up in his lap. “She would never have had the chance to meet Kylo otherwise.”

“Wrong,” Rose says smugly. “She wouldn’t even know you if it weren’t for me.”

“Wait.” Finn straightens, his brows scrunching. “I thought this Kylo person was an old friend? That they hadn’t seen each other in years?” He gives Rey a questioning glance, and Poe makes a noise of agreement.

Hux laughs. “Apparently he isn’t famous enough. For your information, Kylo Ren is the pianist whose concert I brought Rey to — he’s a friend of mine. They first met at that time, so they’re definitely _not_ old friends, unless…” He clears his throat meaningfully, evidently enjoying this too much. “I wouldn’t know, but it’s certainly a possibility, seeing how excited Rey is, and how she’s neglecting her poor friends to spend time with him.”

“Shut up,” Rey complains, pulling out her phone to check her reflection. She’s done her best with her wayward chestnut hair, and it looks fine at the moment, cascading past her shoulders in natural waves. The sky outside is relatively clear, just the usual spectacular riot of evening colors.

She prays fervently that it doesn’t rain, stubbornly choosing to ignore the clouds already obscuring the skyline.

The universe thrives on schadenfreude, it seems. The sky darkens alarmingly, shades of orange blending into an angry red before being swallowed up by heavy, black rain clouds. The rest of the sky is an arresting deep blue, but there’s no doubt that it’s going to rain heavily.

Rey remembers the agitated chords of Beethoven’s Tempest Sonata — Kylo’s choice when it had started to rain outside.

She tries to divert her attention from her hair, which would no doubt be straggling and limp in the humidity. Swearing as she pulls up at Kylo’s driveway, she debates whether to tie it up.

There’s a part of her that clamors that she _should_ leave it down; everyone says she looks prettier this way, and she’d usually agree. All she has to do is to make a run for it and hope the water doesn’t destroy it too badly before she finds refuge in Kylo’s pristine space.

Another part of her rears its head: why do you care how you look?

_Why do I care?_

She leans her head down on the steering wheel in frustration, listening to the rain pelting down outside, unforgiving and relentless. It’s only been just a little over a month since she’d first visited him, and it is an indubitable fact that they share a certain…camaraderie. Kylo appears to be peculiarly attuned to her favorite foods and tells, while Rey understands the imagery and emotions that he conveys through his music implicitly, even if she can’t follow him when he begins to explain esoteric music history in detail, falling into a world of his own making.

Lately, there has been a shift in the air. To her, it feels like a reckoning. As if something has changed and _they_ can never go back.

It’s in the slight blank in her mind whenever he comes closer, and the way they try — too hard — to avoid touching each other.

A sharp rap on her car window jolts Rey out of her reverie, and she blinks hazily through the fogged-up glass, finding Kylo Ren holding a black umbrella and wearing an amused expression.

“Fell asleep in there?” he asks, his voice carrying through the din when she opens the car door to duck under the umbrella. She eyes him as she slams the door closed, trying and failing to give an adequate response.

Because — and she can no longer hold back the direction of her thoughts — he looks positively _delectable_.

Evidently the rain has gotten to him despite the umbrella, since, well, he’s certifiably huge, and the slender black thing might have been enough for her, but it’s absolutely _not_ enough for his frame.

His white tee is soaked through at his shoulders, giving her an unparalleled view of the skin beneath. Droplets of rain are caught in his black hair, running down the sharp planes of his face. His scent, soap and sandalwood, mixed with rain, brings a flood of heat to Rey’s face.

It doesn’t help that she’s practically flush against him as he opens the door, his warmth enveloping her for a moment and giving her more distracting whiffs of his scent.

_Fuck, Rey, get a grip._

When they’re both inside, Kylo turns to her, his gaze raking over her with concern. When it lingers on her face — her hair — her stomach begins to churn as ugly insecurity assails her again.

She would sell her soul for a mirror right then.

Kylo doesn’t comment, however, only grousing over the unexpectedly bad weather and asking her about her day, though she _does_ notice that his stare never meets her face, not once.

He’s prepared roast lamb with rosemary, and they eat at his table, though for once, Rey tastes only ashes and salt.

“You’re unwell, aren’t you?” he asks.

She tries to gauge his expression, but it’s inscrutable, a veneer for whatever the hell is going on in his head. “I’m fine,” she replies, pushing the food around her plate.

His eyes flicker to the plate before they snap back to her, though he’s not really looking at her — more like the space between her eyebrows. Rey knows that people who are uncomfortable with initiating and holding eye contact do so to create an illusion, but there’s a difference nonetheless.

Especially when she’s always been acutely conscious of him. His stare feels like a brand burning into her skin.

“No, you’re not,” he says slowly. “Usually you scarf down whatever you’re eating as if there’s no tomorrow. Just now, you were as good as passed out in your car. Also, your hair’s down today. Did you forget to put it up like you do all the time?” The words come out matter-of-factly.

Rey is speechless.

The first two parts of his observation had been in the process of lifting her spirits, however marginally. The last part ruins all of that.

Ruins everything.

She’s aware that it isn’t his fault; that she should be good-natured about it and laugh it off, since she shouldn’t be deliberately styling her hair differently for someone else. It’s a change of scenery, indulging a whim to look good for _herself_ –

There’s no reason for her to be angry, or sad.

Yet she is. She feels humiliated; a pressure stabs into the backs of her eyes, and she blinks furiously, because she’s _not going to cry in front of him_ , even in her anger for him, for herself.

—Rey is a deeply rational person; she knows and acknowledges what’s happening to her, no matter how terrible it is.

Her hands clench into fists. Despite all of that, she can’t face this — this fall, letting herself veer into uncharted territory so suddenly. She’s seized by the urge to flee, to hurtle her way through the doors into the pouring rain, brutal but honest on her skin, to run away like when she ran away from Finn and Poe, a tidal wave moving away from the shore.

To leave before he does.

_That’s where you’re wrong_ , a voice chides her gently in her mind. _Tidal waves return. They come back, no matter how far they go._

_You’ve always known that, Rey._

A pair of feet, clad in nondescript black slippers come in the periphery of her vision where she has been looking down resolutely. Rey’s gaze moves upwards, stopping on a hand that’s outstretched before her. Kylo stares solemnly, the light fixture hitting the back of his head at an angle that makes him look like some sort of angel, with a halo behind his raven waves.

Kylo Ren looks like salvation, and she’s so, so tired of denying it anymore, when he’s staring at her so intensely her insides are going to combust.

Rey takes his hand, savoring the supple strength in his thick fingers, every touch sending tiny shocks up her spine as he leads her into the music room.

The rain leaves streaks on the panels, the sound muted by the thick glass. She’s too shaken to say anything, letting him lead her to the chaise. Her hand slips out of his when Rey sits down, and she immediately feels cold and bereaved, like she’s lost an anchor.

“What would you like me to play today?” His voice is melted chocolate and woodsmoke, soft velvet and smooth silk. Rey looks at him, sitting at his piano bench, his full lips in a thin line, eyes serious but soft as they regard her with something akin to caution.

She knows what she wants.

The rain is heavy but it’s not like the storm that day, disrupting the waves and turning the sea into a dangerously beautiful force of nature. Kylo’s Tempest Sonata had made her feel as if she were one with the wind-tossed waters, her heart bursting with turbulent emotion as the music rose to dizzying height before falling low and deep like a ship caught in, well, a tempest.

“Chopin’s Ocean étude,” she says quietly. Her thoughts are a jumbled mess; the things that are solidifying into certainty are too terrifying for her to mull over right now. She needs tranquility — and her favorite piece.

Even if she knows that it might be a very bad idea. To see him playing it in person may prove to be the _coup de grace_ , cementing the weight in her chest as she realizes what is happening to her.

“Ah. The Étude in C minor, opus 25, number 12.” He smiles then, close-lipped but real. “The ocean. Of course it’s one of your favorites.”

Her fears turn out to be warranted. The music is sublime and mournful, the flowing arpeggios even more poignant as they resound through the room against the subdued backdrop of the rain, a rising entreaty that’s complemented by moments of quiet, sad melancholy. It is the physical echo of her emotions, expressed to the world under his graceful hands.

Rey thinks of the waves beating at the shore, of the way he is playing to her heart, chipping away at her defenses slowly but surely. It forces her to face the truth, nestled in the depths of her heart but growing steadily as Kylo’s music nurtures it into bloom.

“The étude is a study,” Kylo tells her, “designed to provide practice material for a particular musical skill.” Settling down beside her, once again causing blood to rise to her face, he says, “I’d like to think that what I did just now helped you to study what you’re feeling, since you’re not likely to talk about it.” His tone is carefully neutral, but is that an undercurrent of tension or trepidation beneath his unperturbed façade? She can’t be sure.

Rey has no idea how to respond, seeing as he’s hit so, so close to the mark. Her breath hitches and she blurts, “It was the first video of yours I watched on YouTube. The Ocean étude.”

His stare is magnetic, pinning her in place; her heart flutters, not unpleasantly. “Is it now,” he murmurs, his lips tilted into a sideways smile.

“Yes,” she manages, and his gaze flicks down to her mouth.

Her heartbeat is drowning out every single coherent thought in her head, absolutely _winded_ by his proximity and whatever is passing between them.

“Don’t be afraid,” he breathes, so close that she can count the individual freckles and beauty marks on his pale face, make out the lashes curling over his high cheekbones. “I feel it too.”

For a moment, the words hang between them in the air, low and sultry.

She pulls away first, like the coward she is, pretending not to note his expression closing off like the curtains coming down at the end of a play.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading.


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